the pope shifts his fish head, ruby eyes...
stands over the pinecone and under the silver star,
condemning and chastising
while tens of thousands of pederests
console families in their time of grief.
stars fell from the heavens below,
replacing the petrified eyes of the hypnotized
sodom and gomorrah, alive and well...
salt covers the floor of their labore-a-tory
-don't look back
don't send me an angel.
they cracked the sarcophagus of jesus
and gift wrapped the mummy
in thin sheets of mechanized petroleum,
laid him at the clawed toes of molech
betty crocker and julia child,
released from under each wing-resurrected,
chopping onions and slicing carrots
for the whole world to taste the flavor of worship.
licks the trails
that stream from my wrists
with the sandpaper tongue
of a pussycat.
i fall in love with a vision,
yearning to disrobe the image, slide down.
it sits on my face.
i wake from inbetween parchment of chaffed caligraphy.
ink from the quill of a drunk scribe
mats my flesh
eyes, paste shut.
the greatest stories ever told just became real.
the cover is a cheese grater.
open your heart.
now close it, you're letting a draft in.
Christo, the silk magi
and wraps the vatican in caution tape.
Michael Jackson moonwalks across the veranda
and snatches the fish head
off of the head of the pope.
slick scales, tail, flapping..
smearing his red zipper straight jacket
he dangles the specimen
over the rail of the balcony
like a baby boy
he proudly wants to display
to the world.
it slips from his hug,
hits the concrete like a thousand pound slug...
just fruit bats, exploding
blanketing the whitest sky this side of orion.
i die for fantasy
as farmers and politicians
sacrifice their first born
to a horned owl.
(merry christmas to all.)